


Life And Engines

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-18
Updated: 2006-03-17
Packaged: 2018-08-16 06:32:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8091391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: It's a journey some people don't even want to take in a lifetime. Unfortunatly for Commander Tucker his time has come, whether he likes it or not. (05/25/2003)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: This note was not originally attached to the end of this story. But then something happened during its beta stageâ€”I saw the episode 2.10 "Vanishing Point." Any and all coincidences with plot and themes were exactly that, coincidence. Really! This story wasn't even inspired by the 'Enterprise' episode. I actually wrote it years ago. And before I even saw 2.10 "Vanishing Point" I was already re-calibrating it for science fiction. I swear.  


* * *

> When I was born they looked at me and said,  
> what a good boy, what a smart boy, what a strong boy.
> 
> â€”Barenaked Ladies, 'What a Good Boy'

Commander Charles 'Trip' Tucker leaned over the console and keyed a series of buttons. On the monitor, all systems returned to normal.

"You're a god, sir," mused an ensign. "We should have come to you earlier with this problem. It would have shaved hours off our time."

Trip stood back, arms across his chest. "Not a god, Ensign. A chief engineer. But the difference is negligible."

Heading to the middle deck of main engineering, Trip spared a backward glance. The ensign was smiling as he looked over the commander's recent adjustments to the transceiver array. Trip gave himself a mental pat on the back, then hurried down the stairs to meet the Vulcan waiting in his pseudo office.

"What can I do ya for, Sub-Commander?" he sang, slipping into his chair.

The Vulcan science officer, T'Pol, cleared her throat as she pulled a data chip from behind her back. "Your calculations are inaccurate," she stated.

"No they're not."

"You don't even know which calculations I'm referring to, Mr. Tucker."

Trip smiled. "Doesn't matter. They're not wrong."

T'Pol placed the data chip on the desk. "Please reevaluate your numbers concerning the auto-sequencer, Commander. I assure you, they are inaccurate."

Trip pushed his chair back far enough to stretch his legs onto his desk. "I guess you haven't heard, but apparently I'm a god. And gods don't make mistakes."

"Apparently, this one has," replied T'Pol, turning her back on the engineer as she headed for the exit. She paused at the door. "You may be a god, Mr. Tucker, but I still out rank you. And I would appreciate the new calculations by 1900hrs."

Trip held back a flippant remark and reached for the chip. He turned it around in his hand, staring at it anxiously before sliding it into the computer. As he scrolled through the pages, he quickly realized the sub-commander was correct.  
But it was such a small inaccuracy. The difference was inconsequential.

Or was it? Any discrepancy within his domain was unacceptable as far as Trip was concerned.

And it angered him to no end that it was his own discrepancy. The repercussions of an engineering mistake kept Trip up some nights. Cataclysmic scenarios would pop into his mind without provocation or reason. So with this mistake so obviously displayed before him on his monitor, Trip knew he was going to have a long night.

Banging his fist on the edge of his desk, he pushed back and accidentally ran his chair into a crewman standing at a console. "I'm sorry, Jenkins."

"I'll live," she replied, rubbing her hip. "Is everything all right, sir?"

Trip drew in a deep breath, contemplated running head first into the wall. He opted instead to hold his ground and contain his self-frustration. "Uh, yeah. Sorry." He glanced past her and noticed an opportunity to change the topic. "The gravity plating on E-deck still causing trouble?"

The crewman looked back at her console. "Oh yes," she replied, pointing to the schematics. "I was just going to ask you about that."

* * *

Captain Jonathon Archer was in a T-shirt and cargoes when Trip entered the mess hall later that evening. Still in uniform, the engineer seemed over dressed.

"Wasn't your shift over two hours ago?" asked the captain, sliding behind a table with a plate of food.

Trip scratched the back of his head as he turned to the protein re-sequencer. "Coffee black," he said to the machine. When his desired beverage materialized, he grabbed it carefully and turned to the captain. "My shift never ends," he replied. "The burden of being the chief engineer."

"And here I thought being the captain was demanding," mused Archer, working his mouth around a bite of sandwich. "Join me. Take a break. That's an order."

Trip took a small sip of his coffee. "I'd love to. But if you recall, your the one who demanded warp four-point-seven this morning," he replied with a smile, heading for the door. As it whooshed shut behind him he added under his breath, "when you knew good and well we're only capable of four-point-one right now."

He took another sip of his coffee as he waited for the turbolift. It really hadn't been what he neededâ€”or wanted, and the more he drank the coffee, the more bitter it tasted.

As the door to the lift finally opened, Ensign Hoshi Sato stepped off. Trip smiled eagerly. "Hoshi!" he said, holding out the mug. "Do me a favor and hold this for a sec, would ya?"

When the young ensign received the mug, Trip jumped onto the turbolift and waved good-bye as the doors shut between them. He fell back against the wall and ran a hand through his hair.

He was tired. Exhausted. And he could feel a dull pain throbbing behind his eyes. But going to see Doctor Phlox right now would only be putting off the inevitableâ€”T'Pol.

It was nearly 2200hrs. He was late.

He reached into the pocket on his left sleeve and pulled out the data chip. The calculations had been amended, and checked several times over. But Trip still couldn't forgive himself, hence the delay.

When he reached her floor, he stepped off the lift and turned right. Gradually gaining momentum, he consciously changed his walk into a confident stride as he approached her door. He pressed the com button, but instead of a disassociated voice over a speaker, the door opened without preamble.

"Commander, you're two hours late," T'Pol said, her hand already extended.

Trip tossed the chip into her hand with a confident grin. "I know. Just wanted an excuse to see your cozy quarters again."

"Will that be all, Mr. Tucker?"

Trip opened his mouth to say something, then closed it slowly. He shook his head and stepped away from the door.

* * *

By the time his alarm rang the next morning, Trip was already in the shower. When he stepped out, he rushed into the main room of his quarters, a towel wrapped around his waist as he raced to turn off the annoying buzzer. He sat down at his desk and pulled up the day's schedule.

His screen divided into sections. On the left was a box with the itinerary he had written before going to bed. On the right were two smaller boxes. One consisted of personal messages sent over the course of the evening. The other was an itinerary handed down from the captain himself. It was much shorter than his own.

Across the bottom of his screen scrolled the real-time system analysis of the ship; it's coordinates, it's speed, and the status of ongoing operations. All nominal. So after reading the tenth redundant message concerning someone's broken something-or-other, Trip turned off his monitor.

Shower head in Ensign Cutler's quarters was dripping.

A floor board in the gym was squeaking.

The holo-target in the armory was fading in and out.

The temperature was too hot. The temperature was too cold.

And why had all these people specifically asked for him? He had a large staff capable of doing any and all of the above, but it was him they had asked for.

"So which is it, god or janitor?" Trip tossed his towel into the bathroom and grabbed a fresh uniform. But before he had a chance to leave, a voice came over the com.

"Captain to Commander Tucker."

Trip keyed the com. "I'm here, Cap'n"

"I know it's early, but can you possibly come to the bridge before breakfast? Lieutenant Reed's having a problem with the targeting array. He thinks it might be mechanical."

"No shit. He's always messin' around with the engineering when he knows I can do it right," replied Trip. Then he keyed the com. "No problem, Cap'n. On my way."

* * *

By noon, Trip had accomplished half of his personal itinerary. The captain's list having been completed by 1030h. But that didn't mean he could relax and take an extended lunch.

Earlier in the day the captain had found a new planet. Well, Hoshi had found it, but Archer was apparently laying claim. According to the logistics list Trip was running through, Captain Archer planned on taking down the entire ship. Bored by the second page, Trip placed his PADD on the table and glanced around the mess hall.

He was sitting in front of the large Plexiglas window, the rhythmic thrum of his engines underfoot. It was a good place to be. He could feel an energy in the room. Throughout Enterprise. The captain may be the heart of a ship, but Trip regarded himself as it's pulse. He kept everything moving. So he smiled confidently as he watched people eat, going about their day without fear or anxiety.

They trusted their ship. They trusted their lives in Enterprise. Which to the chief engineer meant, they trusted him.

He could hear a conversation somewhere beside him, it's sentiment bathed by the white noise of the ship. Life and engines. The mosaic of Enterprise.

It could be absorbed into the skin and fill a person with vitality or anxiety, depending on the persons disposition. And since Trip was in a good mood, he couldn't help but feed off it's vitality.

And when Trip walked through the corridors after his brief lunch, the feeling stayed with him. And when he arrived in engineering, his pride intensified. He stood before the great warp engine, arms crossed over his chest as he stared at the massive power. A massive power that he could control.

As a pure sense, ultimate confidence only came around every so often. And when Trip felt it he not only enjoyed it's company, he let it envelope his inner most fearsâ€”hoping to regress them back to mere childhood memories. And right now, the chief engineer could almost smell the exuberance around him.

He watched a crewman cross the catwalk above and eyed the uniform. It was steel purple. A bold colour that illicited authority. The dark red piping on the shoulders commanded respect. And the knowledge required to wear that engineer's uniform just seemed to have a strength Trip couldn't explain. It was a weapon of power. It made Trip feel secure and substantial.

Trip figured one day his staff would learn to appreciate themselves for more than just the tools people considered them to be.

And when they started to feel as Trip did, they too would learn to love being an engineer, and stop using it as a stepping stone to bigger and better things. Captains and Admirals could have all the rank and prestige they wanted. As far a Trip Tucker was concerned, there was nothing bigger and better than being the pulse of the shipâ€”good times or bad.

Anyone could pick up a text and learn the job, but it took a love of engineering to learn the ropes. And so far, Trip had cherished every plasma burn he had procured.

It was a righteous feeling being an engineer.

He thrived on the excitement of warp-factor-five. He yearned for those moments when repairs had to be made on the fly. He would chide, possibly even complain about such things, but that was just part of the overall rush. Trip had feared for his life, and the entire crew's on several risky turns. But that fear was always swallowed, because by the end of the day he was always alive.

If he didn't believe he could strive under these circumstances, if he couldn't brush catastrophe away with the blink of an eye and keep working, he would have lost his senses a long time ago. Or even worse, Trip believed, his love of the job.

He was off duty in a few hours. But somehow, Trip knew a piece of him would still be working. If not literally, figuratively. He missed work when he wasn't there. Almost enough to stop, close his eyes and imagine himself purging a manifold.

Just then T'Pol entered, interrupting his thoughts. Trip dropped his head. Every instinct told him to run, head for the closest Jeffries tube, or perhaps airlock. But the Vulcan was quick.

"Commander," she greeted, before Trip had a chance to hide.

"Hey, T'Pol."

"I have further amendments to the logistics list," she said.

"Of course you do."

T'Pol passed a PADD to the chief engineer. "Is there a problem, Commander?"

Trip shook his head. After a momentary glance he nodded. "It'll get done," he smiled. "Nothing too complicated. My guys'll have to switch everything into cargo bay four, but we'll manage."

"Are you sure you can spare your staff?" asked T'Pol. "Perhaps you could employ some security personnel to assist you?"

Trip frowned. "I know who and what I can employ, Sub-Commander. Anyway, most of this stuff is engineering equipment. I'd rather have my own people workin' on it. I'll do it myself if I have too."

T'Pol nodded slightly, but did not make an attempt to leave.

"Is there something else?" asked Trip.

"I just wanted to remind you that it is, Wednesday."

Trip raised his eyebrows, spread his arms. "And?" Then he quickly hunched his shoulders, furrowed his brow. "And...tomorrow we have that breakfast meeting in the captain's mess."

"0600hrs," T'Pol stated. "I will be briefing the senior staff on the approaching Minshara class planet. Please, do not be late."

Trip puffed his cheeks, holding his breath before letting it explode out from his lips. He rubbed his eyes and walked to his desk. At his monitor, he punched in Enterprise's current coordinates and began a search in the Vulcan science database. So concerned with his engines, Trip tended to forget there was a universe outside his window. Moreover, he figured he should be at least a little bit informed about this region of space. Especially before walking into one of T'Pol's briefings.

* * *

Trip could not believe the pain in his back the next morning. He could barely lift his head more than two inches. And when he finally did, he became acutely aware of the cause of his misery. His computer.

He had slept with it again.

Trip sat up stiffly in his chair, blinking as his eyes came into focus with the nebula on his monitorâ€”the last thing he had looked at before falling asleep at his desk. He glanced around engineering, it was quiet. A scattering of the night shift was around, and he smiled to them, thanking them for letting him get some much needed sleep. Then he quickly frowned, realizing that if they had woken him, he might have gotten a better sleep.

Shaking his head, Trip turned back to his computer. The nebula was taunting him almost to the point of audible laughter. He had been so bored reading about planets in the area that he had gotten side tracked, opting instead to just looking through the pictures.

"Just great," he mumbled, angrily dropping the nebula from his screen and bringing up the ship's systems. "T'Pol better not be planin' a pop quiz," he said, heading for the exit.


	2. Chapter 2

> Sweet dreams are made of these. Who am I to disagree?  
> I travel the world and the seven seas. Everybody's looking for something.  
> Some of them want to use you. Some of them want to get used by you.
> 
> â€”Eurythmics, 'Sweet Dreams'

He could hear a voice somewhere in the distance. An unsympathetic, monotone voice he heard often and trusted. But as he sat staring out the window of the captain's private dining room, Sub-Commander T'Pol's voice meant nothing to him.  
He had just meant to glance out the window, not stare. But something had caught his attention.

And the thick grey clouds were mesmerizing, drawing him in like a black hole. They were still several thousand kilometers away, but the sensation was almost tangible. Commander Charles 'Trip' Tucker could feel the approaching storm sucking his attention into it's event horizon. It was only his friend, Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, tapping him on the arm that brought him slamming back to reality.

Trip Tucker felt something inside him snap. Not like a twig. Not like a rubber band. More like an invisible force yanking him back to his physical existence. With a violent shudder, Trip grabbed Malcolm's hand and threw it off his shoulder.

"Whoa, hey," cautioned Reed quietly, meeting the commander's gaze. "It's only me."

Trip focused on his friend's face, trying to break his lingering trance. "What just happened?" he breathed.

Reed flicked his eyes towards T'Pol standing at the end of the table, then he leaned toward the engineer. "I don't know, sir," he replied. "But I think you were just daydreaming."

"I feel like I just woke from a dream," Trip said, drawing a hand down his face. It was wet, he had to dry his palm on his thigh.

"I'm sorry," broke T'Pol's voice. "Am I interrupting the two of you?"

"Well, sort of," replied Reed, with a snort.

The Vulcan Sub-Commander braced her hands on her hips, an eyebrow raised. "I'm aware the awaiting planet is not the most dynamic topic, but regardless of it's unentertaining nature, our contact with it is imminent. Perhaps if you don't care to listen now, you two could stay behind and read my detailed report in a more disciplined manner?"

The two officers slumped down in their seats as Ensigns Travis Mayweather and Hoshi Sato hid their grins. It took the Vulcan several more moments to regain control of the meeting, which only agitated the Sub-Commander more.

When the briefing finally concluded, the bridge crew left to attend their posts. But Trip and Reed remained behind with T'Pol, reading over what they had missed during her lecture.

"You two may leave," T'Pol said after only a few minutes. "You can read the report on your off-time."

The commander and lieutenant didn't wait around to contemplate their superior officer's sudden generosity, bolting from their chairs as soon as the words were spoken.

On the bridge, they met up with Captain Jonathon Archer waiting by his chair. The captain was well aware of the tension between his chief engineer and science officer, and he looked to Trip as if he were about to burstâ€”just waiting to unleash his barrage of disappointment and laughter.

Trip Tucker smiled wryly, waiting to be assaulted. But Reed spoke first.

"All due respect, Commander," he said. "But what happened to you in there? I don't particularly enjoy being on T'Pol's bad side, and you seem to have a knack for drawing me into things I don't appreciate."

Trip shrugged, then looked at his captain with a frown. "I dunno. I guess I was just daydreaming. It won't happen again, sir."

"Yes, well, you better not get caught doing that again," warned the security officer.

"T'Pol's briefings aren't the best places to be taking a nap, Trip..." reprimanded Archer.

"Captain," Trip interrupted. "I apologize. Really. It won't happen again. Can we just get back to work?"

Archer and Reed dropped the subject. And a few hours later, the three Enterprise crew members were heading toward the mess hall for lunch. They chatted amicably as they strolled through the corridors, discussing anything and everything that came to their mindsâ€”including dreams.

Trip followed Reed and his captain to a table, but food was the last thing on his mind. He frowned and looked covertly over his shoulder. Then with slow, cautious moves he looked over his other shoulder.

He recognized most patrons; engineers, medical, but some he had never seen before. No one was paying any specific attention to him, but Trip still shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Despite his sudden paranoia, he turned his eyes back on his friends.

"Have you given any more thought to my proposal for a standardized alert?" Lieutenant Reed was asking.

"I'm not so sure we need a klaxon quite as dramatic as you've programmed," replied Archer.

"Well, if you use my suggestion and call it the Reed Alert, then I'll install it myself," added Trip.

Archer feigned contempt. "Oh, I see. You'll only grace Enterprise with your talents if you can gain credit?"

"Not just any credit," stated Trip. "Credit for Malcolm's initiative."

"Are you guys ready to eat?" rushed the captain, rising from the table before Reed had a chance to retaliate.

Trip watched as Reed rose to follow the captain. "Nothing for me, thanks," Trip said, with a wave of his hand.

"On the turbo lift you did nothing but complain about your poor neglected stomach?" reminded Reed.

"I guess I lost my appetite."

"Lost it where?!" asked Reed. "We only came from the bridge."

Trip didn't have an answer. He really hadn't been hungry then either, and had only wanted to change the subject away from dreams. "You know what," he said, pushing out of his seat. "I think I'll head back to the bridge. I, uh, I'm supposed to meet Rostov there in a few minutes anyway."

Trip wondered why he had just lied as he headed through the door.

* * *

When is this storm gonna hit? Thought Trip, watching the forward screen. Outside, the dusky, ominous clouds were still migrating slowly, surging in a violent expanse. And he couldn't tear his eye's away. It was the force pulling him again, unrelenting and gradually gaining momentum.

Something vague and familiar began manifesting in his mind. It was the same feeling as earlier in the captain's dining room. Trip's thoughts began to coalesce, sucking him deeper into a trance.

Then a voice started.

He recognized the voice, at least, he thought he did. It taunted him, it's urgency building with each new sentence. But it was speaking nonsensical and Trip couldn't make out the words. He just knew somehow it was calling him.  
He closed his eyes, focusing all his concentration, but something reeled him back. Back to the bridge where someone was now standing next to him.

"Mesmerizing, is it not?" asked T'Pol, once the commander looked at her. "It's quite curious how the clouds are meshing together."

Trip could feel his cheeks burning. He shifted uncomfortably beside the Vulcan, hoping he hadn't just been caught daydreaming again. "Uh, yeah," he stammered. "Why is that? Curious, I mean?"

Not turning, T'Pol pushed a button on the engineering console, opening a channel with the universe "Clouds in a neutral consolidation storm, albeit non-threatening, do cause severe static. Do you hear any?"

Trip shook his head, looking back at the clouds.

They were silent. No static. No interference. And no more voice.

He looked away unsettled. "You're sure there's nothing-" he paused, searching for the right word. "Precarious about this particular storm?"

The Sub-Commander straightened her shoulders, a Vulcan sign of offense. "Are you questioning my knowledge as the chief science officer? I assure you, Commander, I'm quite experienced in this field."

"Well, I should get back to engineering," rushed Trip, detouring from the dangerous path he saw this conversation taking. "I've got a to-do list longer than my arm."

* * *

Opting instead to inspect the condition of an earlier assignment in cargo bay four, Trip turned right instead of left and felt a sudden drop in temperature. Commander Tucker had to brace himself from the coldâ€”which was strange. He usually left Enterprise at a comfortable room temperature. The corridor should have been moderately warm, but Trip could feel sweat turning cold on his skin.

He shivered, rubbing his arms to trap the escaping heat, but it didn't help. The shivers would not subside, and Trip couldn't control his muscle spasms. He picked up his pace, and when he arrived at the intended bay, to his surprise he found it open.

Then he heard a voice.

Startled, he spun around searching for the speaker.

The cargo bay was dark, secondary lighting casting the only luminescence. Trip couldn't make anything out except dark outlines and shadows. The room appeared abandoned, but he could have sworn he had just heard a voice. Tentatively, he took a step forward. "Hello!" he called, his voice bouncing back to him. "Who's here?!"

No response.

His shivers intensified.

He felt like someone was watching him. Following him as he continued walking into the bay.

Trip whirled around, trying to catch whomever it was off guard, but he saw nothing. Nothing but the familiar dark walls of a cargo bay; which now did not sit well with him. The bay should have been filled with preparations for an upcoming away mission to an M-Class planet. It had only been that morning that his crew had loaded the bay.

But there wasn't a bin or supply anywhere.

No hint that anyone had been in this room for some timeâ€”except him.

A foreboding feeling crept into his brain. With a shudder he stepped back, then ran for the doors at the end of the bay.

He came to an abrupt halt in the corridorâ€”as if he had just slammed into a brick wall. "Malcolm!" he cried, grabbing his friend by the shoulders.

"My god, Commander!" exclaimed the security officer, shaking himself free from Trip's grasp. "Don't you look before running out of a room?"

Both shock and relief were battling for control, leaving Trip feeling disconnected. He swallowed hard, schooling himself. "I...I'm sorry," he stammered, blinking at his friend. "But, where is everything?"

"Pardon me, Commander?"

Trip looked back into the empty cargo bay. "Where is everything my team assembled in this room?" he repeated, this time more persistent.

Reed shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir. But what are you talking about?" he stated, more than asked.

Trip was about to respond, but something about his friend distracted him. "Why are you out of uniform?" he asked slowly.

"Mainly, because our shift ended over an hour ago," informed Reed, eyeing him sideways. "Is everything all right, Commander?"

Confusion and anxiety clawed at the chief engineer. His shivers had disappeared, but in it's place was nausea. Feverishly, Trip retraced his steps in his mind. "Naw, that can't be right," he said, furrowing his brow. "After I left the mess hall I went to the bridge for a few minutes, but then I came straight here. We still have several more hours left in our shift."

"Suit yourself, Commander," shrugged Reed, continuing his previous agenda down the corridor. "But I've got a date with the gym I'd like to keep."

Trip waved a haphazard goodbye, his mind elsewhere. He was certain it had just been a short while ago that he had spoken with T'Pol on the bridge.

* * *

He couldn't sleep.

Commander Trip Tucker lay on his bunk, desperately willing his eyelids to stay shut. Lieutenant Reed had been right. When Trip had finally made it to engineering, he had found his entire shift had gone off-duty, and by now probably sleeping. Trip wished he could do the same; fall asleep and get as far away from this day as possible.

"Trip..."

The commander remained still, not sure if he had actually heard his name.

"Trip..." repeated the voice, quiet yet obstinate.

He sat up this time.

"Tri..."

He threw the covers off, swung his feet to the floor. Reed was the first person he called, then he tried Ensign Travis Mayweather. No one else was up, or at least, no one was answering their specific hails.

Trip had wanted so desperately to find one of his friends awake. He wanted to believe it had been one of them who had called his name over the com. But he knew they hadn't. The voice had sounded too far away, and had come from no particular direction.

And when he heard it call his name again, Trip made some sort of connection with the voice. He was no longer able to control his thoughts or actions as he crossed the floor.

He found himself standing by his view port. Not knowing how he got there, or if he had even carried himself, his eyes were drawn to the clouds outsideâ€”striking against the dark expanse. "What do you want?!" he called to the universe. "Who are you?!"

The clouds churned.

Silent.

With no reply.

The voice was also silent now, and Trip felt himself released from the spell. Every time it spoke, or he stared at the mysterious clouds, it felt like a piece of him was being ripped away. The storm and voice wanted him. And there was a part of Trip, a small indescribable part down deep, that wanted to go and join them.

Quietly he returned to his bunk feeling cold and vulnerable He had just laid down again when his alarm resounded. It only took a moment for the corridor outside his quarters to turn into a zoo, crew members bustling about, rushing to catch breakfast before their shift started.

And Commander Trip Tucker lay in his bunk, stupefied, and wondering where time had decided to hide itself this time.

* * *

"Good morning, Commander. Don't want to be late," Travis Mayweather chirped playfully, as he passed him in the hallway. Trip watched the helmsman carry on towards the bridge, a jovial bounce in his step.

"What did you do, sir? Sleep in your uniform?" asked Malcolm Reed, coming up beside him.

Trip looked down at his rumpled uniform. "I guess I did," he replied slowly.

The security officer glanced at his watch with a smile. "We should get to the captain's mess nice and early. Maybe get on his good side," mused Reed, giving him a playful punch on the arm. "We have T'Pol's briefing first thing, don't we?" he finished, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"I don't know," replied Trip, his patience wearing very thin. "You tell me."

It seemed like just minutes ago the security officer had told him it was end of shift. Trip spun away from his friend, throwing his arms in the air. "I don't even know what day it is today. It could be tomorrow, for all I know!"

There was only one person Commander Tucker wanted to seeâ€”the master of all things logical, and therefore the illogical, Sub-Commander T'Pol. And that's where he headed, straight to her quarters.

He walked, his anger and frustration carrying him through Enterprise towards the one person who might have an answer to what was happening. Trip didn't even bother with the buzzer when he arrived, knocking forcefully on the door and catching the Vulcan off guard.

"Something is seriously wrong here!" Trip declared, standing firm, arms braced on the mantle of the Sub-Commander's room.

T'Pol raised an eyebrow, then turned her back on the Commander, retreating into her private habitat.

Commander Tucker could tell by the Vulcan's calculated moves that she was more than just a little perturbed. Trip didn't care. He stepped into the room, watching T'Pol turn back to face him.

But when she leveled her eyes in a detached stare, Trip felt a little culpable. He drew in a deep breath to re-think his plan of attack.

"T'Pol," he said carefully. "I'm sorry." He paused to analyze the Vulcan's reaction to his softer tone. It hadn't changed. "I really think something is wrong."

"With what, Mr. Tucker?" she asked in a steady voice. "With you? With Enterprise? With your lack of propriety?"

"Ya know what?" replied Trip, his frustration returning. "I don't even know myself. It could be me, yeah. It could be..." His voice trailed off as he caught a glance out the sub-commander's view port.

He could see the storm clouds; unchanged and silent. But he wouldn't let them get the better of him this time. He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it perched just above his ear, cutting off his line of sight out the window.

"Are you all right, Commander?" asked T'Pol, her voice suddenly less harsh.

"Tell me something," demanded Trip. "Do you remember speaking to me yesterday? At all?"

T'Pol inclined her head. "Yes," she replied matter-of-factly. "Several times.  
I believe the last time we spoke was just before dinner. I was remarking on how there was a lack of static..."

"Before dinner?"

"That is correct, Commander," affirmed T'Pol. "After we spoke, you left for the mess hall. And if I remember correctly, when I arrived you and Mr. Mayweather were causing quite a disturbance at the protein re-sequencer."

"No!" yelled Trip. "No, no, no. That didn't happen! I didn't eat dinner with Travis."

The Vulcan covered the short distance between them, placed her hands in a tight grasp behind her back.. "Yes you did, Commander," she said gently. "Are you al..."

Trip threw his arms in the air. "No! That's not what happened yesterday," he fumed, backing towards the door. "I was only in the mess hall with the captain and Malcolm at lunch. Never again. And that was before I spoke to you on the bridge. I never even saw Travis in there either, let alone cause a disturbance with him!"

He raised a finger for each sentence to make his point clear. Then he jabbed his finger in T'Pol's direction. "I left you standin' on the bridge! And I got all spooked out in the cargo bay 'cause it was empty...And someone was watching me. I never ate with Travis! And...It was early. Then it was late. Then it was... You know what?! Forget it! Forget I said anything!"

"I will not forget it, Commander" asserted T'Pol. "You barge into my quarters,  
then you proceed to rant, rather abusively may I add, with this absurd story. You did have dinner in the mess hall last night. And you certainly ate with Ensign Mayweather."

"Are you serious? Is this some sort of joke? Are you all in on some sick, perverted prank to get me back for something?" demanded Trip. Then his eyes flickered. The one thing he was trying to avoid looking at, was now in his direct line of sight.

The clouds.

And suddenly Trip wanted to be with them more than anything. He knew that was physically impossible, but he felt an urge to try. He spun on his heel and left abruptly, leaving behind a very confused Vulcan.

Trip was well clear of T'Pol's quarter's when he finally stopped. He bit his lip, trying to decide what to do, where to go. And since he knew there was one other person on board that might be able to help him, he headed towards sick bay.

After a moment, his brisk walk turned into a run.

But he was no longer running through the sterile fuselage of a starship. He was running through what resembled a jungle. He was sweating profusely. His muscles suddenly ached, and he had no idea where he was going or where he was. He couldn't even assimilate how or when the ground had changed suddenly from carpeted flooring to rock and mud.

Yet he continued unable to stop himself.

He had no idea how long he had been running, and he didn't recognize any of his surroundings. But he didn't care. Unable to control the powerful urge, Commander Tucker kept running.

He was at the side of a rushing river when he finally stopped and collapsed to the ground panting. He rolled onto his back, staring through the branches overhead at the sky and clouds.

"What do you want from me!" he screamed, not really expecting an answer. "Who are you?!"

Those were his last words before his world went black.


	3. Chapter 3

> Do you wake up on your own, and wonder where you are?  
> You live with all your faults.
> 
> â€”GooGoo Dolls, 'Iris'

Wet. That's what he was feeling. Damp, cold, and uncomfortable as he lay on the ground. He could also hear rushing water behind him, but he was too tired to open his eyes. Then he felt a sting, like a hand swiping across his face.

"Commander! Come on , Trip. Wake up!"

Commander Charles 'Trip' Tucker's eyes flew open when he recognized the voice.  
"Malcolm?" he croaked, seeing the security officer's face hovering above him.

"Yes, it's me," replied Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, breathing a sigh of relief.

"Me too, Trip," added Captain Jonathon Archer, his head popping up above Reed's. "We've been looking for you all day. Why'd you take off like that? You had us all worried. I get very nervous when away teams split up."

"The clouds," Trip mumbled, rubbing his head as he sat up. Away team? He looked around dazed and noticed not only was it raining, but it was dark, and he was on some alien planet.

But the away mission he was apparently on was still a week away. At least, it was the last time he checked.

Archer and Reed helped their friend to his feet, steadying him as he stumbled. "You don't look too good," pointed out Archer. "Maybe we should get you back to sickbay?"

Trip pushed them away, backing closer to the river's edge. "No...No...I'm fine..."

"Hey! Be careful!" warned Archer, attempting to grab his chief engineer before he fell into the river.

But Trip, still in a daze, wasn't seeing things clearly.

He didn't see his captain as trying to protect him, rather, as someone trying to attack him. Trip swung his left arm out, countering the attackers hand, then shoving him toward the river.

Archer was caught off guard and hurled towards the rushing water.

Reed tried to catch him, but it was too late. Captain Archer was already in the river, speeding away with the current.

"What the hell is wrong with you!" cursed Reed, shoving the engineer out of his way. Then he took off down the riverbed after the captain.

Trip stood alone, confused. But, he was... Oh my god! "Captain!" he cried, realizing what he had done.

He ran along the riverbed after Reed, watching as his best friend was carried away by the current. Trip was weaving his way behind Reed, but the rocks were slippery and there were branches jutting out over the river's edge making it difficult to maneuver.

Trip's foot slid on a rock, but he was able to catch himself on a tree trunk just before landing in the river himself. He carried on, but he couldn't seem to move fast enough. Reed was well ahead of him, and Archer was moving even faster than them both.

"Get him, Malcolm!" Trip called.

The rain picked up, making it even harder to see in the dark. But Trip kept going, pushing himself harder than he had ever before. Finally he caught up with Lieutenant Reed at a clearing where the river calmed and pooled before disappearing around a bend. The security officer was scanning the water, looking for any sign of their captain.

"I don't see him!" reported Reed in a frantic voice.

Trip squinted, heart pounding, trying to spot his friend in the dark murky water. There were several rocks scattered throughout the river, and he couldn't make much more out.

And he couldn't hear anyone either.

No screams for help. No desperate splashing. Nothing but the rain and his own breathing.

Then he saw something. A flash of white contrasting against the black water. It disappeared as fast as it appeared, and Trip kept his eyes trained on the spot as he ran into the river. "Captain!" he called before diving under the surface.

He couldn't see Archer anymore, so he swam, struggling to keep his head above water. When Trip arrived at the spot where he had last seen him, he splashed around in a circle, calling his friend's name.

"Can you see him?!" came Reed's desperate voice from the shore.

"I don't see anything!" Trip called back, before diving under again.

He couldn't see, but he could feel his way under the surface. Sticks and reeds brushed against him, throwing him hope he had found his captain, only to be disappointed. When he couldn't hold his breath any longer, he resurfaced for more air then dove back under.

This time he felt something solid and large. It was no rock or floating branch. It was covered in material and had two arms and two legs. Trip grabbed hold of the body, and with one swift kick he and the captain surfaced.

"I got him!" he called to Reed. When he reached the shore, he deposited his captain beside Reed and stepped back. Bent over, hands braced on his knees, Trip tried to catch his breath as he watched Reed examine Archer's still form.  
His face paler than snow, Reed turned towards Trip and said something inaudible.

"What?" prodded the commander, now standing as he heaved in air.

Reed didn't even blink. "I said, he's dead, sir."

"No. No, he's not dead," replied Trip evenly.

"I'm sorry, sir."

Trip shook his head, frowning. "No. Jonathon Archer isn't dead. The captain doesn't die," he replied matter-of-factly.

"What do you mean the captain doesn't die?!" spat Reed. "What are you talking about?!"

"He's not dead. My best friend doesn't die!" screamed Trip, his face turning red with anger. He locked his eyes on Archer's body. "Get up," he ordered.

Captain Archer remained still.

"Get up!" Trip ordered again.

When Archer didn't respond, Trip marched over and stared down at his best friend. "Didn't ya hear me?! I said get up!" he screamed, nudging his friend in the side with his foot.

The body shifted with the force, but did not flinch. "Get up!" Trip ordered again. "This isn't funny anymore, Captain! Just get up!"

Reed jumped up to subdue his commander. "This isn't a joke, sir," he said calmly, placing firm hands on his shoulders. "He must have a hit a rock, or taken on a lot of water..."

Trip shoved Reed away, unable to control his anger. "He's kiddin' around with us!" he cried, jabbing a finger in Archer's direction. "He-is-not-dead!" Then Trip cocked his head so he could see past Reed. "Get up ya son-of-a-bitch! Get up!"

But the captain didn't move.

Trip and Reed stood in the rain, staring each other down, each waiting for the other to break stance. Behind them, Captain Archer lay on the ground, his head twisted at an odd angle, his lips blue and clothes soaked and tattered.

Commander Tucker refused to believe he was actually dead. It couldn't be true. That would be too much for the chief engineer to handle.

Fed up, Trip wedged his way past Reed towards Archer. A voice, the voice, echoed in his ears. It was calling his name again. Trip spun back to Reed, his face frozen in fear. "Did you hear that?" he asked.

"Hear what?"

His stomach reeled as if it were in a whirlpool. Trip clutched his abdomen as he bent over. Reed ran to his side, only to be pushed away. "I gotta get away from here," Trip stammered, not sure where the words came from. Then he ran from the river's edge.

Reed had just entered the forest after him when Trip's knees decided they couldn't carry the burden any longer. They gave way beneath him. Trip fell to the ground, pausing only briefly when his knees hit the earth. Then he collapsed forward onto his hands, hyperventilating. And Reed was helpless in stopping him from slipping unconscious.

Commander Tucker lay limp in Reed's arms.

* * *

The place was warm. Comfortable. And familiar. Trip Tucker was no longer lying on the cruel damp floor of the jungle.

Actually, he didn't know where he was, but he knew opening his eyes would mean facing reality. And for him, facing reality, facing his fears, was too unbearable. He wanted to stay where it felt like a warm blanket, soft and reassuring, was wrapped around his body. Even the smell was comforting, he didn't want to lose it. He didn't want to return to where he was cold, wet, disjointed, and Captain Jonathon Archer was dead.

The memory of his friend's death leapt into his mind, evicting Trip from his safe harbour.

He began tossing, slowly at first, swinging his head back and forth. Then, gradually, his movements became more rapid. He thrashed underneath the now constricting blanket. The only thing stopping him from jumping out of his skin was a voice. But not the distant voice that had been calling him before. This one was corporeal.

And it was close.

He tried to open his eyes, but they were heavy. He lay still and let the voice coax him awake. The voice, she, was saying his name. Then Trip felt something touch his forehead. Every bad feeling in him, every horrible memory, every pain in his body melted away at the touch.

It was a hand, soft and smooth, but not familiar. He barely felt it brush across his forehead, then run down the length of his face. He reached his own hand up to catch it, and hold it against his cheek. He didn't want to let go.

"Commander," said the voice. "It's time to wake up."

T'Pol? His eyes flew open. The sub-commander's face was looking down at him. "T'Pol?" he asked, his voice barely escaping his lips.

"Shhh. Don't speak," she said, tucking the covers around his chin. "Just relax. Everything is all right now."

"No, no," he protested. "The captain..."

"I'm right here, Trip," came a voice from over the Vulcan's shoulder. Then he appeared, waving his hand and smiling.

Commander Tucker bolted upright in his bed. "What?" Then he saw Reed standing next to him. "What...What's happening? What's goin' on? You're..."

T'Pol eased him back to the bed. "You must relax now," she said. "The captain and Lieutenant Reed found you in time. You have an extensive laceration on your head, but Doctor Phlox assures us you will be fine."

"If you stay in bed," warned Reed, wagging a threatening finger.

Trip raised a tentative hand to his forehead and felt a bandage, then looked at T'Pol skeptically. "What happened? The last thing I remember, I was at the side of a river on the planet and it was raining, and..." He noticed Archer and Reed share a confused look.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about, Commander" began Reed, hesitantly. "We found you in the cargo bay at the bottom of a ladder, unconscious. I hate to disappoint you, but you weren't anywhere near a riverâ€”or a planet for that matter."

"You must have fallen," added Archer, stepping closer to the bed. "I was trying to reach you to find out how the preparations for the away mission were coming, and you never answered my hail. That's when Malcolm and I went looking for you."

Trip shook his head, closed his eyes briefly. "It seemed so real," he said cryptically, waning strange looks from those around him. "I remember prepping the equipment...weeks ago...yesterday, or today. I went by the cargo bay...found it empty. And Malcolm came by...we talked. Everything was all strange, like time had been scrambled..."

T'Pol brushed the hair off his forehead, resting her hands near his temples. "You must have been dreaming, Commander. You have a concussion. You've been asleep for hours."

Trip decided that made sense.

It had all been a dream.

A nightmare.

Trip drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. His muscles began to ache again and his mouth took on a metallic taste, but he didn't care. As far as he was concerned, he felt great.

He was on Enterprise, and everything made sense. He had been supplying the cargo bay when he had fallen. Everything after that had been a dream. No one was following him. The clouds weren't calling to him. And most importantly, Captain Archer was alive.

He hadn't just killed his best friend. Everything was as it should be.

But was it? This wasn't right.

Trip couldn't remember falling. He was also aware that he should be in sick bay not his personal quarters if he had a concussion. And most importantly, why was a Vulcan touching him when they so openly disliked any form of tactile articulation?

He pushed the indiscretions to the back of his mind. Thinking about them only hurt his head. He looked at T'Pol and smiled, reveling in this reality. "It must have been a dream," he replied, more to himself. Then he felt the heavy strain of sleep pulling at him.

He shifted under the blanket, drawing himself closer to T'Pol. Draping an arm over her lap, he nestled his head against her thigh. As far as he was concerned, he couldn't get close enough. He wanted, he needed, to feel her. And for the first time since they met, she made him feel safe.

* * *

Despite a night of tossing and turning, Trip crawled out of bed the next morning feeling refreshed. Any remnants of yesterday had all but disappeared. Smiling, Trip dressed, left his room, and decided to pay gratitude to a certain Vulcan.

At her door, Trip decided to use the chime this time. The door opened, but the sub-commander quickly retreated to the other side of her quarters when he entered. "T'Pol?" he asked, watching her hunch over a broken chair in the corner.

The normally impeccable habitat was in complete disarray. The desk's contents were strewn about the room. A chair was turned over, and shards of broken graphite and pottery were scattered across the floor. There was even a small fist sized hole in a cabinet door.

"T'Pol?" he said again, crossing the floor.

She flinched when Trip put his hand on her shoulder. When she faced him, dark circles hung under her eyes. "Are you all right? What happened here?" he asked, looking back over his shoulder.

T'Pol stood slowly, removing his hand from her shoulder tentatively. "How are you feeling this morning, Commander?" she asked with a Vulcan's version of a scrutinizing frown.

"I...I'm fine," he replied, a confused edge in his voice. "But what happened here?" He waved his hand, indicating the shamble around them.

T'Pol took a deep breath. "It's a minor aggravation, all things considered," she replied stoically. "But right now I think your well being is paramount."

"My well being?" Trip asked, eyebrows raised. "I was feelin' kinda sick last night, from the concu..."

"Sick," repeated T'Pol, baffled by the engineer's choice of words. "You seem to be accepting this more professionally than I had expected, Mr. Tucker. Are you sure you are doing well?"

"I was feeling..."

"Commander," T'Pol interrupted, locking eyes with him. "What happened yesterday frightened many crew members. It even unsettled me. And I don't wish to see that side of you again, no matter what the circumstances. Doctor Phlox reminded me that under certain situations, such as yesterdays events, humans can act with increased irrational behavior, even uncontrolled violent outbursts..." her voice broke off, as if she didn't want to continue.

After a pause, T'Pol opened her mouth again. "I'm glad your back to yourself this morning, Commander. But I think it would be best if you took some time off."

"What...?" blurted Trip, taking a step back.

But T'Pol stopped him. "With all due respect, Commander. I can handle Enterprise without you for a few days, and engineering is in cable hands."

With all that had happened in the cargo bay; his concussion, blacking out, strange dreams, Trip decided the Vulcan had a good pointâ€”regardless of her crypticism. "Maybe you're right," he replied, biting his upper lip. He looked back over his shoulder with a frown. He really wanted to know what had happened, but his head was starting to hurt again. "Are you going to be all right?"

T'Pol nodded.

Rolling his neck, Trip conceded. "I think I'll just try and catch the captain and Malcolm in the mess hall first. Thank 'em for yesterday," he said, heading for the door.

"The captain...?" asked T'Pol, but Trip was already gone.

* * *

Trip had not yet looked out a window. He hadn't noticed the clouds.

He passed through the corridors of Enterprise still feeling good about the day. It wasn't until he noticed the barren mess hall that his feelings changed.

Not a crewman, not an officer, not even the sound of hungry ensigns rushing to finish before the start of their shift. "It can't be that late," Trip said, raising his eyebrows. Then he turned back to the door, hoping to catch the captain on the bridge before the morning briefing.

He ran down the corridor and skidded around a corner, bumping into T'Pol. "Sorry," he rushed with an innocent smile, continuing down the hall.

"Mr. Tucker!" came the Vulcan's voice. "Where are you going?"

Reluctant to pause, he spun back, arms spread wide. "The bridge. The captain's not in there," he replied. "I still wanna catch him before the morning briefing."

T'Pol crossed her arms. "There is no morning briefing today," she said. "You of all people should be aware of that. Captain Archer...was your best friend."

"I don't understand," Trip responded. Then he snapped his head around, hearing someone's approach. Reed came around the corner, stopping in his tracks when he saw the chief engineer.

"Commander...?" Reed said, eyes darting between his friend and the Vulcan. "What are you doing here?"

Trip bit his lip, retracing the day's events. He couldn't think of one reason why Reed would be surprised to find him here. "Why shouldn't I be here?" he inquired mildly.

"It's all right, Commander," T'Pol said softly, her eyes conveying a certain understanding. "No one expects you to attend your duties today after last night."

Trip pressed his lips into a thin line. Once again, he felt like he was missing something. And in a strange way, that was beginning to feel normal. Frustrated, he shook his head. "What exactly happened last night that I should know about?" he asked, resigning to the possibility that what he thought had happened, had indeed, not happened.

"Well, you should know, Commander," stated Reed, furrowing his brow. "You were there. Well, actually..." his eyes darted to T'Pol, asking if he should continue. "You pushed him into the river."

There was a certain finality to Reed's statement that left a bitter taste in Trip's mouth. He could feel bile rising in his throat. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He tried again to speak, but nothing came out. Running his hands through his hair, he closed his eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath. "The captain's dead, isn't he?"

Neither T'Pol or Reed responded. And they didn't have to. Trip already knew, felt, the answer. He had killed his best friend last night by the river.


	4. Chapter 4

> When everything feels like the movies,  
> And you bleed just to know you're alive.
> 
> â€”GooGoo Dolls, 'Iris'

Commander Charles 'Trip' Tucker felt a chill wrapping it's fingers around his gutâ€”a combination of guilt and confusion. Composure, like pride, tended to evaporate when your world seemed to be falling apart around you. And the chief engineer had just lost his...again.

One minute he's here, the next he's there. One minute it's now, next it's then. Archer dead. Archer alive. And on top of this, he had to contend with the voice calling him.

Several deep breaths later, Trip let the feeling he'd been trying to harbour surface. He regarded his friends with uncertainty and fear. "I'm goin' crazy."

The words hung in the air; simple, unquestioning.

Lieutenant Malcolm Reed suddenly found the floor at his feet fascinating. Sub-Commander T'Pol regarded Trip evenly. And Trip knew he was in for one of her pedantic Vulcan dictates. The ones that never made sense at first, but later revealed themselves as words of wisdom. He braced himself, not wanting to listen.

"Recognizing one's own insanity," began T'Pol, calmly. "Is a sign of sanity."

"But there's no other explanation," replied Trip, his voice rising defensively. "How else can you explain what I've been going through?!"

"Trip," started Reed, shaking his head. "We'll get through this together. The captain was my friend too..."

"This isn't about that!" exclaimed Trip.

He didn't need platitudes, he needed for them to understand. But how could they? It had to do with him. Him and the voice. Him and the time continuum. Him and...him and the storm clouds. Trip flushed, a hand darting to his head as if to hold in the thoughts formingâ€”stop them from flowing out.

"He is too deep," came T'Pol's voice, breaking Trip's standoff with his conscious.

The engineer looked up. "What?" he asked, staring at the Vulcan.

"I didn't say anything, Commander," responded T'Pol, an eyebrow raised.

"Yes you did," challenged Trip. "You said 'He is too deep.' What does that mean? Who's too deep?"

"I said no such thing, Commander" replied T'Pol quietly.

"...find his own path..."

"Find his own path..." repeated Trip, watching as he heard the Vulcan say the words, but not mouth them.

"Find what path?" asked Reed, confused. "Who has to find a path?"

"Me," replied Trip, stunning his friend with his abruptness. "I have to find my own path."

Concerned not with who was speaking the words, but with their meaning, he spun away and returned to the mess hall. He was going to find his path away from here. He had to get away before he did any more harm to his friends. And failing that, at least have some privacy when he completely lost all control of his mind.

Trip cast a weary glance out the large window where the dusky clouds churned silently with their menacing and dangerous intent. They were the cause of his troubles. He could feel it.

Somehow, he felt they were controlling his world, his mind, his inability to grasp reality. He didn't know how they were doing it, but he could feel their beckoning embrace. He'd felt it in here days ago. He'd felt it down on the planet, and when he stood at the window the other night. He had felt it by the riverâ€”and he could feel it now.

But he wouldn't let them have him. If he left now, while he still had some grasp of the real world, he might be able to escape them. Hide. Maybe.

Whoosh.

Trip spun at the sound. Reed and T'Pol were slowly entering the mess hall. "Come on, Trip," came Reed's voice; distant, muffled and urging.

"Come on," came Reed's voice; near, precise and compassionate.

Great, thought Trip. I may not be seeing double, but I'm definitely hearing double.

Now he knew he had to get away. And he had to act fast, before they had a chance to convince him otherwise. Under the pretense of defeat, Trip stepped up to Reed. But as the security officer draped an arm around his shoulders, Trip swept his body underneath and grabbed the phase pistol from Reed's belt.

He backed towards the door, setting on stun. "I don't want to use this, guys. But I am willing," he said, before darting out the door.

He ran for the closest shuttle bay. But as he ran, his vision blurred. His head spun until it hurt. Trip stopped to brace himself from falling, and when he opened his eyes, he was back on the planet.

The jungle was ahead of him, a large field of tall yellow grass at his feet. The clouds, silent, churning and dark in the grey sky above.

He stood on the cusp of complete psychosis, but something seemed to be holding him back.

As he started to cross the field before the jungle, he could hear T'Pol and Reed calling to him. Or was it the cloudsâ€”he couldn't be sure.

"Commander..."

"Come back..."

"You're scaring me..."

Trip didn't look back.

* * *

Trip managed to put a great distance between himself and the presumed location of Enterprise, but it had been for nothing. He couldn't escape the clouds. They loomed above him, voices drifting down and filling his head. Trip cupped his ears as he ran, trying to drown them out. It was hard running that wayâ€”a phase pistol in one hand, hands at his head, but he stumbled ahead despite the inconvenience. Not once did he think to discard the weapon.

But he couldn't resist stopping and glancing back over his shoulder every once in awhile, trying to verify his feeling that someone was watching him. But there was never anyone there.

Desperate for relief, he ran tripping and panting over the contours of the unrelenting jungle floor. Through the voices, his mind tried to think. Tried to figure out where he could go. Where he could hide.

But could he hide? Could one hide from one's own insanity?

Trip stopped. The question left him reeling. Tingling.

His mind began to spin, forming a thick, unforgiving haze that clouded his reality. Every part of his body screamed for collapse. Fall to the ground and sleep. He was so tired, and the voices were growing louder and more urgent.

Shaking, he brought his mind back to the jungle where he stood alone, tired and armed with a phase pistol. He had taken it for protectionâ€”just in case. But right now his only threat was himself, and what he might do if the voices didn't shut up and leave him alone.

Glancing through the thick rooftop of foliage, Trip could see the dark clouds. He had been running a long time, but hadn't gotten any further away from them. And deep down, he knew he never could. His efforts to escape them, to regain some normality, were fruitless as far as he was concerned now. They would follow him where ever he went.

They were relentless. Evil. Uncompromising.

They wouldn't leave him be, and they wouldn't stop their incessant urging for him to come to them. There was only one thing that could stop them, one thing that he felt could end his torment. He just wasn't sure if he could do it.

He hated to do it.

His whole life he'd known it to be wrong. A sign of weakness. But Trip couldn't help it. He couldn't live this way. He was so tiredâ€”severed from the reality he knew, and loved. And he was sick of hearing the voices. They'd been calling to him for so long now he was starting to think he recognized the voices.

Before, he had thought he heard T'Pol and Reed, but now he was hearing Jonathon Archer as well, and that was enough to destroy Trip inside. The memories of what he had done to him, no matter what state of mind he was in, were too painful. He could never absolve himself. So he did what he thought he would never do in his lifetime.

He gave up on himself.

Dropping to his knees, he let out a cry, but no tears flowed. He cried out in anguish. In defeat. In hopes someone would hear him and end his misery. But no one came, so he turned instead to the clouds above...

And surrendered himself.

They could take him, and do what ever they wanted with him. As far as he was concerned, nothing could be worse than living like this. But there was a small part of him that fought this decision. A part of him that screamed 'no'. So in essence, Commander Tucker did not fully surrender.

Only, he wasn't aware of this. He didn't realize how stubborn his inner strength could be. So when he leaned forward on his hands, his head hung low, he didn't know the clouds weren't listening.

"Take me now," he muttered, his heart aching at the sound of his words. "Just take me now and end this nightmare..."

Nightmare.

Trip blinked.

What if?

Trip eased back onto his heels, his eyes cast down, a hand hovering over the phase pistol that lay on the ground before him. Slowly, he wrapped his fingers around the trigger, drawing the weapon until it was facing him.

What if?

The notion was reassuring, and he knew there was one way to tell. Raising the pistol slowly until the muzzle rested against his right temple, he took several deep breaths. "Oh please, let this all be a nightmare," he prayed.

Eyes squeezed shut, Trip changed the setting on the weapon. A moment later, a warm sensation enveloped his head, contrasting against the cold shiver running down his spine. He didn't have a chance to register the pain, if there had been any, before he melted into darkness.

* * *

"No!" he cried, his voice echoing in his ears as his new surroundings came into focus.

It was dark. It was raining. It was cold. Lieutenant Reed was before him, hovering over the lifeless form of Captain Archer.

Trip was back beside the river, his best friend dead by his hand. He collapsed to his knees in a harrowing panic. How could he be back here? Then he felt strong arms catching him as he fell back into oblivion.

A stinging sensation on his cheek brought Trip back to consciousness. He was lying on the ground, Reed hovering above him, and Archer peeking over his shoulder.

"Good to have you back, sir," said Reed, his British accent light and chipper. "You had us worried there for a minute. Why'd you go running away from us like that?"

Seeing Archer was enough to make Trip repose, but not for long. He sat up, confusion and anger running through his head. Pushing off the ground, he found himself standing at the river's edge. When he turned to look back at his friends, they were standing casually, their arms crossed over their chests as if nothing was wrong.

But nothing was wrong for them.

It was only Trip who found the whole situation rather disturbing. But at least this time Captain Archer was alive. That made this easier on Trip. He was almost content to stay here, when ever here was, and live out his insanity where his best friend was alive and breathing. But other issues were presenting themselves in the form of nagging voices in the back of his mind.

He's not alive. Where are you? When are you? This is not real.

The last one hardened him. Anger threatened to take him over. This wasn't real. The blood in Trip's head churned, tilting the world at odd angles. The voices returned and he staggered.

Archer tried to catch him before he backed into the river, but Trip pushed him away. Captain Archer was thrown, flailing and panicked into the water. Then Reed said somethingâ€”Trip couldn't hear what, the voices were too loud nowâ€”but he did feel a shove before his friend disappeared down the riverbed.

Commander Tucker was left standing alone in the rain by the river's edge. He had just killed his best friendâ€”again. Or was this the first time? All he knew, was that Jonathon Archer would not make it out of the water alive.

* * *

Before the thought even had a chance to register, Trip was standing onboard Enterprise. Alone with T'Pol in her quarters. His frustration returned with a vengeance.

"Commander Tucker. You need to calm down," urged Sub-Commander T'Pol, apparantly oblivious to the fact that Trip had just arrived, and had indeed not been there for the begining of the conversation.

Unwilling to meet the Vulcan's gaze, he turned away. Trip's frustration was presenting itself as anger much too often for his liking lately; and it hurt even more when it was misdirected.

He felt like a red giant before going super nova; the force of reality squeezing in, battling against the anger and uncertainty wanting to burst out. But he wanted to calm down. He wanted to be able to put things back into perspective. He wanted his life back. He wanted...He wanted to throw something.

And the chair beside him worked just fine.

"Son of a bitch!" he cried, as the chair was hurled across the room.

T'Pol covered her head as debris came flying dangerously back at her. But Trip didn't notice, already reaching for another object. It had felt good to throw the first one, and he wanted to feel it again. Feel the release of the stress and pent up anger that had been hanging around his neck like an albatross. But this time as he raised the new object, a hand stopped him. Trip turned, his shoulders rising and falling with each quick breath.

"I don't think the furniture did anything to deserve this," said T'Pol, slowly lowering his arms.

Trip replaced the heavy Vulcan statue to it's place on the desk, the thud breaking the awkward silence in the room. He kept his eyes locked on his colleague, trying to draw from their calmness and discipline. But he was walking a tightrope between too much adrenaline and too much frustration. And all that pent up energy had to be released.

"T'Pol," he said. "I'm sorry...I just don't know what to do." Then he walked away, knocking the statue over with a sweep of his arm.

It felt good.

"Commander," stressed T'Pol. "You have to learn to control your temper. Especially in my private quarters," she said sternly. "I know what happened is difficult, but you can't expect others to put up with your destructive temper." Then she bowed her head, and added under her breath, "Besides, it unsettles the crew to see you at a loss of control."

Trip was incredulous, and not quite sure what she was referring to. But she had opened a door. A door that led to his inner most self, so he stepped through.  
"What?" he asked, spinning back to face her. "It unsettles others? When did this become about others?! It unsettles me! In fact, it down right scares the hell out of me! But I can't always remain calm. Maybe you haven't noticed, but I'm not a Vulcan!"

Rage clouding his outlook, he didn't notice the slight flinch in T'Pol's stature as he continued to lash out. "I have to live with this constant struggle not to lose control every waking moment! How do ya think I feel each time the captain orders weapons online? Or when the ship goes bump in the night? Don't you think I worry about these things? That one day the damage will be beyond my scope of practice? That the entire crew will be stranded out here if I can't fix Enterprise when she's injured?!

"But I can't show this uncertainty! No, I can't let people think I'm scared and insecure about my capabilities as an engineer. I'm the chief damn it! I'm the thin line that physically holds this ship together! And one of these days, I'm gonna do something irrevocable! I'm gonna misalign a conduit, re-calibrate the wrong deuterium injector, or give a wrong calculation to a member of my staff and kill someone...or everyone! And I have to live with that possibility everyday!" He punctuated his last words by spinning and throwing a fist through a cabinet door.

As he slowly retracted his limb, bleeding and numb, he let his head fall against the wall. Now the tears came. But they came slow, not allowing him the full release he needed. He dropped to the floor, drew in his knees.

"I did kill someone," he whispered, burying his head in his arms. "I just want my life backâ€”the voices to stop."

He felt an embrace, arms wrapped protectively around his head in comfort.

"Shhh," said T'Pol. "It's okay..."

"No, it's not...I can't handle this..." he said. Now the tears came uncontrollably. It felt good to finally let go, no pretense or posturing, just unabashed crying. "I'm going crazy...There's nothing you or anyone can do about it... Nothing in my life is connected anymore...Archer is..."

"Get up, Commander."

"No," he replied, not lifting his head. "Just stay here, T'Pol. Don't let me go."

"I'm not going anywhere," said the Vulcan, pulling back slightly. "Why did you say no?"

"You told me to get up."

"I did not," replied T'Pol.

"You did..." Trip began, then realized it hadn't been her. It had been the voiceâ€”and it had sounded like Lieutenant Reed this time. But he didn't bother to look around for him, knowing he wasn't there. Instead, he jerked his head away and buried it deep into the crook of his arm. He squeezed his eyes shut trying to ignore the voice, but it echoed in his head.

"Trip...Trip...Trip..."

He jolted. Like a force yanking him backwards, pulling him across a part of space not meant to be traveled. He could feel himself falling, carelessly and without destination.

Then he was sitting on his bed in his quarters. Through the window he could see the clouds taunting him. Sweat beaded his forehead, and his breathing became ragged. Shaking, he threw off his covers and raced for the door and toward T'Pol's quarters. Once there, he found the Vulcan crouched over a broken chair on the floor. When she turned to look at him, he could see dark circles under her eyes.

A knot formed in Trip's stomach.

"I did this..." he breathed, remembering the first time he had been here, seeing this mess. "What have I done?" he asked himself, running a hand down his face. "What have I become? I've become a danger to my own friends," he finished, walking slowly into the room.

"Commander," said T'Pol, now standing. "How are you feeling this morning?"

The words meant nothing to Trip. He turned back toward the door, ignoring further inquests toward his well-being. As he stepped through the door he paused to say something, thought twice, and kept going.

He didn't look back. He just kept walking. Eventually he figured he would get too tired, too weak to continue and he would collapse and pass put. That was what he wanted.

Followed by the voices, he strolled unconsciously through the ship. But somehow, they weren't bothering him anymore. It was as if he was used to them being there, almost like a companion. He didn't want to fight them any longer.

A strange feeling came over him, one of serenity and tranquillity. It was uncanny. Where before they were menacing and incessant, now they were friendly and alluring. Sure, they were still urging him, but he wasn't afraid of them anymore. He was too tired to be afraid. And when he passed by a view port, he looked out at the clouds spread out before the ship. They almost seemed pleasant in all their hostility and churning.

They were no longer his enemy, but a part of him. He actually smiled, accepting them. His nightmare wasn't so scary anymore.

Nightmare.

There was that word again.

"That's it, Trip."

"You can do it, Commander."

"Do not lose yourself, Commander."

The voices had changed. They almost seemed excited. Trip closed his eyes, concentrating, and letting them flow to himâ€”through his ears and to his mind. He liked the sound of them now, and how he could recognize each one of them distinctively.

"Trip..." That was Lieutenant Reed.

"I think he's coming around..." That was Captain Archer.

"Do not force him. He needs to do this on his own..." That was T'Pol.

"The fright might harm..." And that was Hoshi. Trip smiled. Their voices were so clear nowâ€”almost tangibleâ€”and he wanted to reach out and grab...

Falling. He was falling again into oblivion. When his eyes flicked open it was night, and he was staring out the window in his quarters. He closed his eyes again, relishing in the sound of the voices, letting them be his guide.

Falling. This time when he opened his eyes, he was standing in T'Pol's quarters. And she did not look her stoic self. Trip smiled and closed his eyes before the Vulcan had a chance to speak.

Falling. Now he was by the riverside. Archer and Reed were hovering over him, their hair wet and dripping from the rain. He stretched his arms out to his sides and closed his eyes.

One of these times he would get it right, he was sure of it. And he would feel it. When he opened his eyes, it would be like a weight had been lifted, the haze disappearing and leaving him aware and certain. He knew one of these times he would get it right.

He didn't know where the feeling was coming fromâ€”maybe from his inner strength, maybe from his deep desire to go homeâ€”but he knew he would eventually get it right. Even if it took him a life time.

And all the while he was searching for that right time and place, he heard the voices cheering him on. Commander Tucker became a one man arsenal against his own insanity.

He was falling again, letting himself be carried by the mysterious force pulling him. This time he woke in the mess hall with the captain and Lieutenant Reed.

Falling. Standing with T'Pol on the bridge.

Falling. Alone in the cargo bay.

Falling. But this time it was different. He was outside himself, watching as he ran through the jungle carrying a phase pistol. Closer. But not quite right.

Falling.

No. Flying. His body soared, peacefully through a blue cloudless sky.

"Take me home," he said, as he closed his eyes, feeling the wind carry him, his arms outstretched. And when he opened his eyes...

He had gotten it right.


	5. Chapter 5

> Life is waiting for you.  
> It's all messed up,  
> but we're alive.
> 
> â€”Our Lade Peace, 'Life'

This one felt different.

Commander Charles 'Trip' Tucker felt a realism he hadn't felt in a long time, a certainty that couldn't be mistaken. And everything else, now that he was back, felt like a dream. A very vivid dream, but a dream none-the-less.

A wave of relief flowed through him as he turned his attention to those around him. He was sitting back in the captain's private dining room; T'Pol's briefing. And more importantlyâ€”no storm before Enterprise. Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, Sub-Commander T'Pol, and the rest of the bridge crew including Captain Jonathon Archer himself, were all staring at him.

Trip was back where it had all began.

"Nice of you to join us again, Mr. Tucker," said T'Pol, her arms crossed behind her back. "I can only assume it was an intense nap."

Trip smiled.

"And something I don't want to have happen again," came Archer's voice, loud, irritated, yet alive.

Trip's smile broadened.

T'Pol motioned for everyone to take there seats. "Are you all right, Commander?" she asked, turning her attention back to the disturbance of her briefing.

Trip nodded, sitting back in his chair. "Yeah, I'm okay now," he said with assurance. He looked around the room, taking in all the staring faces, then he turned back to the Vulcan. "I'm definitely okay."

"Good," replied the sub-commander, looking down at her PADD. "I'd like to continue now."

Trip didn't pay attention to the rest of the briefing, and it didn't appear the Vulcan cared. Or at least she didn't show it. Which was fine with Trip. He needed the time to gather himself, figure out how he was going to broach a certain topic with T'Pol after the briefing.

When it concluded, he told Archer he would meet up with him on the bridge shortly, there was just a little something he wanted to speak to T'Pol about first. With her Vulcan discipline, Trip regarded her as the single most authority concerning the ways of the mind. And there was something nagging at him that he needed to clear up.

Arriving at her door, he keyed the chime and waited for an answer. When the door hissed open, he poked his head in. "Hey, T'Pol," he said apprehensively. "I'd like to talk to you for a moment, if I could?"

T'Pol nodded. "Come in, Commander" she replied, indicating the chair.

Trip sat himself down tentatively. "I wanted to talk to you about what happened during your briefing," he started, fidgeting in his seat. "While I was..." He paused, searching for the right words. "While I was, napping, I kept hearing these voices." He turned his gaze upwards, locking eyes with the Vulcan. "Incessant voices, urging me to come to them."

A look close to intrigue swept across T'Pol's face. "What exactly were these voices saying?"

Trip sat up straight in his chair. "Well at first they were faint and kinda disjointed. I couldn't really make out what they were saying. Just that they wanted me...Them and the clouds..."

"Clouds?"

"Yeah. I saw this storm off the bow of Enterprise."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "I can check our scanners, but I do not recall any storms in the area."

Trip waved his hand dismissively. "Not important," he said. "I fell asleep staring at a nebula last night, I must have sub-consciously turned it into a storm when I was dreaming. Anyway, it was like this storm was there just for me. And near the end, I felt like it was a part of me. It was, well, disarming." Trip paused to let T'Pol speak, but she didn't.

"And these voices," he continued. "They eventually started to sound like you. Well, like you an' Archer an' Reed. They were saying things like. 'come on, Trip'. And 'you're starting to scare me.' At one point I heard you say 'he's too deep'."

T'Pol arched an eyebrow. "That was us," she assured. "We did say those things."

Trip looked at her shocked.

"It assure you, it's true, Commander," continued T'Pol. "We were trying to wake you."

"So, my subconscious was hearing you the whole time?" asked Trip. "That whole timeâ€”that whole time I was afraid of the voices, I should have been listening to them instead of trying to shut them out? No wonder I started to wake when I learned to accept them."

Severed from reality too long.

T'Pol crossed her arms behind her back and studied the young man before her. "You may not have been ready to at first," she began. "You had to find your own path out of what ever was controlling youâ€”dream or not."

But Trip, still in a daze, wasn't seeing things clearly. Trip squinted, heart pounding, trying to spot his friend in the dark murky water.

Trip jumped in his seat. "Yes!" he cried, jabbing a finger at the Vulcan. "You said, 'find his own path'."

"And this storm," continued T'Pol. "You think it became a part of you?" Trip nodded. "In your mind, it just may have well been, Commander. The part connecting you to us, to the real world around you."

They would follow him where ever he went.

Trip furrowed his brow, tilting his head. "You mean like a sort of metaphor?"

"It's possible," replied T'Pol. "Or possibly it was just a fabrication of the nebula you said you were staring at last night."

Trip laughed. "But there's one other thing..." He took a deep breath. "Have you ever had a dream where you wake up and go back to sleep. Wake up and go back to sleepâ€”over and over again. And then you actually wake up, and realize all those previous times had all been part of the original dream? And you know when you're actually awake, because you just feel it?" He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "But then all those vivid images and emotions just seem to disappear? You start to forget things in your dream that had once seemed so real?"

Loss of time. Loss of place. Loss of perspective.

"I understand dreams are capricious that way," replied T'Pol.

"Well, I still remember everything," Trip said, lifting his eyes. "I remember every image. Every feeling. Every landscape and place I went. And I'll never forget what I did, and what I said."

I can't let people think I'm scared and insecure about my capabilities as an engineer.

T'Pol tilted her head. "Maybe you weren't just sleeping, Commander?"

Trip pushed the notion aside. "Of course I was," he laughed. "I fell asleep in your briefing. It's not unusual, ya know," he continued playfully. Then he sat back, taking a deep breath. "How long was I asleep anyway?" he asked, eyeing the Vulcan skeptically. "I mean, if you guys were trying to wake me upâ€”and I wasn'tâ€”weren't you guys startin' to worry something was wrong? I mean, usually I'm not that hard to wake up?"

"There was no need for concern....yet," stated T'Pol, stepping behind her desk. "Any longer and Doctor Phlox may have intervened, but you were only out for a moment or so."

Trip's mouth dropped, his eyes widened. "That's it? Are you serious?" he asked, but T'Pol didn't have to answer, her lack of expression was enough to convey her response. "So...What was this you were saying 'bout my not being asleep?"

Paranoia. Everyone counting on him.

"The mind works in mysterious ways, Commander," remarked T'Pol, her voice low and cautious as she entered fragile territory. "We can't always explain the things it does. How it works. Or how it controls us. We have to accept it as a powerful tool and hope it stays with us till the end. As you are aware, the constant quest for mental discipline is key amongst Vulcans."

She made him feel safe. He needed to feel her. She had mental discipline which hid her true Vulcan self.

Trip leaned forward again. "You think I had some sort of mental breakdown?" he asked, the words heavy on his lips. He didn't want to articulate the fact that at this point, it seemed very likely.

"That, you can only answer for yourself," replied T'Pol. "It may have been a dreamâ€”they can come fast and furious with no sense of time or reason. Or...it may have been something entirely different. Maybe life is not as casual as you portray? Maybe this was a way for your mind to tell you it's had enough of masking, and to observe your life at a different level?"

Life and engines.

"I repeat, the mind works in mysterious ways, Commander. Perhaps this should not be taken so lightly? Perhaps you should investigate what thoughts and deeds were most prevalent in your dream? Have you ever taken the time to look inside yourself?"

Trip remembered his outburst of introspection in the sub-commanders quarters. He remembered losing his captain.

Job. Loved ones. Life.

He remembered all his fears surfacing. But what left him ultimately disarmed was that he had let down his guard. Trip had dropped his exterior wall, the one he had spent a lifetime building. Vulcan vase. Shattered. And he hadn't liked it. It had been so long that he had expressed his true self, that he had almost thought it dead.

Empty cargo bay.

But Trip preferred the person he had become, not the one he truly was. He preferred a world of confidence to a world of uncertainty. And masking his true self with arrogance was much easier than being the apprehensive man he was...or so he thought. "Sometimes you tell a lie so much, you actually start to believe it," he said softly.

T'Pol studied the engineer quietly. "And sometimes when others also tell the lie, you become it. You embrace that mask."

You're a god, sir.

Trip propped his elbow on T'Pol's desk, rested his forehead in his hand. The weight of the question was definitely not lost on Trip. He had contemplated this before, and he was pretty sure most humans had also. He believed people were who they were for a reason. And he believed he was the way he was because he needed to be. He could never let people around him know he wasn't perfect, that he had fears.

The thin line that holds the ship together.

And he tried his hardest to never think about them, never let anyone around him know he even had them. That would only help them surface No one wants to face their biggest fears. And Trip feared not so much his imperfections, but rather the consequences of his imperfections.

Raging river.

And he also knew he wasn't going to mention any of this conversation to anyone. There were just some things that didn't need to be shared. And if in time he figured out he had temporarily lost his mind, he didn't need the rest of the crew to find out.

Not once did he consider dropping the weapon.

With that to ponder, Trip left T'Pol's quarters. There was one place he wanted to go, one thing he wanted to see. So he headed to his own quarters, wanting some privacy.

Tentatively, he stepped up to his small window. Taking a deep breath, he looked out at the universe. It was dark, speckled with tiny white and blue stars. It was peaceful. With a smile on his face he turned away, but something stopped him.

He rushed back to the window, pressing his forehead against the thick Plexiglas. In the far distance, floating away inconspicuously behind Enterprise...

Dark clouds. Churning silently.


End file.
